


casual touch

by sabliere



Category: Bleach
Genre: Fluff, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28302045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabliere/pseuds/sabliere
Summary: Grimmjow hates being touched casually.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 3
Kudos: 158
Collections: GrimIchi Secret Santa Exchange 2020





	casual touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [white10tailedwolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/white10tailedwolf/gifts).



> It's my first time writing for the ship, and I think I might've strayed a little bit from the prompt you gave (sorry!), but I hope you enjoy this, @white10tailedwolf! Merry Christmas >u<

Grimmjow hates being touched casually. A tap on his arm to get his attention, hands clapping his shoulder ― his immediate, unthought reaction is violence. It’s always violence. He doesn’t get it. Why would someone reach out if not to fight, if not to hurt? The world is very simple for a Hollow: you’re either the hunter or the prey, and everything in between is a weakness to be exploited by others.

Kurosaki Ichigo, frustratingly enough, seems to think otherwise. Grimmjow hates being touched casually but Kurosaki _revels_ in it, in the little touches, the little meaningless taps and claps and ― hugs? And Grimmjow doesn’t understand it, doesn’t understand _him_. To lower your guard is to ask to be stabbed in the back, sometimes when you least expect it. Family, friends, allies, none of that matters when you’re clawing your way up from the bottom, fighting for survival. Is it a byproduct of strength? Overconfidence? Grimmjow hates the thought of being less than Kurosaki in any way ― hates the knowledge that he bares his teeth like a caged beast at the slightest hint of proximity while his most treasured rival welcomes it with open arms and bright eyes.

Watching the man helps Grimmjow with absolutely nothing. Of Kurosaki’s family, his sisters get the most smiles, the warmest reactions. Kurosaki never flinches away from them, never cowers or strikes back; at worst, he frowns, pinches the bridge of his nose, sometimes mutters under his breath. Grimmjow understands him, then, because they’re weak and would most likely not cause him any significant harm. The father ― that’s another matter entirely. Him, Kurosaki fights and fights back. Him, Kurosaki punches, kicks, screams at, once or twice. But even then, there’s not malice in anything he does; Kurosaki lacks the viciousness, the cruelty.

Grimmjow wants to see that change. He wants to pull on that thread until it snaps, wants to see how far it goes because Kurosaki can’t just... Be like that. Can he?

Grimmjow wonders what reaching out for Kurosaki would be like. Would he be met with the violence he understands, or the odd welcoming, the somehow friendly side? There is not a single shred of doubt in him that a violent reaction would be his answer. He’s an Arrancar, a former Hollow. They were enemies before they were anything else, on opposite sides of the fight more than once. Grimmjow wouldn’t forget it, were he on Kurosaki’s place. And he doesn’t, from his own side, can’t, ignore that as much as he craves their spars, there’s no such a thing as ‘trust’ between them.

The first time Grimmjow reaches for him, the reaction he gets is less than expected. Kurosaki startles, yes, but doesn’t strike back, doesn’t react violently in any way like Grimmjow had almost been hoping for him to ― he merely stares, eyes as wide as saucers, at the hand Grimmjow somewhat awkwardly used to pat his head.

It’s underwhelming. It’s frustrating. It’s... Confusing. Grimmjow knows Kurosaki doesn’t underestimate him, that Kurosaki doesn’t think him weak. But to not even consider him a threat? To welcome even his touch, the same Arrancar that tried to kill him countless times before, who still says he’s going to do it someday even if he enjoys their fights too much to truly consider it? They’re not friends. Grimmjow doesn’t have friends, and he doesn’t _want_ them.

Even this, he tells himself, is just a way to pass the time. Grimmjow doesn’t care.

The first time Kurosaki reaches for him, Grimmjow almost cuts his arm off. An overreaction, he’ll think to himself later. A mistake. But he’s down on the ground, the sting of a split lip distracting him from the blood in his mouth, and Grimmjow doesn’t see Kurosaki reaching out to help him up, doesn’t see the man who’d never strike someone that’s already down ― he sees a moment of miscalculated vulnerability that someone’s going to take advantage of.

Kurosaki doesn’t get hurt, but it’s unclear on whether it was sheer luck or just his skills. Grimmjow never apologizes for it. Kurosaki never asks him to.

The second time Grimmjow reaches for Kurosaki, he means it as a challenge. A dare. It’s less a clap on the shoulder and more him trying to trip Kurosaki, to see him stumble ― to see the mask crumble under the weight of the tension that’s building between them.

But it doesn’t. And Kurosaki still won’t strike back. He doesn’t have the decency to even look startled this time, the deer-in-the-headlights eyes.

He just smiles.

Grimmjow wonders what reaching out for Kurosaki would be like, beyond what he has done. The casual touches, the taps, the physical acknowledgement. Not only that, now, he wonders what Kurosaki reaching out for him would be like. The violence he expected, the violence he hoped for, never came. Even with his instinctive reaction of striking blindly, Kurosaki has never retributed. Grimmjow is not the prey, he doesn’t feel like prey, but he’s not the hunter, either, and a part of him craves to understand it. It’s no longer a hobby, no longer a way to pass time because being in Hueco Mundo is boring if he can’t fight.

It can’t be overconfidence. It’s not merely a byproduct of strength. Kurosaki just doesn’t seem to believe Grimmjow would truly aim for something malicious, would truly aim to hurt him. Kurosaki doesn’t seem to believe him capable of being cruel, even if he’s been shown it before. And Grimmjow wants it, whatever it is, wants to know how it feels like, wants to know what it _is_.

More than that, he wants it with _Kurosaki_. The worst part is, he thinks a part of him might want Kurosaki to want it with him, too.

The second time Kurosaki reaches for him, it’s calculated. It’s a question. It’s him saying _is this okay_ and Grimmjow baring teeth at him but not stepping away.

The weight of Kurosaki’s hand against his face is one of the weirdest feelings Grimmjow can remember ever having felt. He’s got the heavy, calloused hands of a fighter, but the feather-like touch of someone who fears breaking what they hold between their hands.

Grimmjow is not fragile. And he hates backing away from something almost as much as he hates losing, so when he brings Kurosaki’s hand up to his hair, it’s with intent. He doesn’t know what goal it is that he has yet, isn’t sure what he actually means when he leans against the fingers that carefully start playing with his hair, but he does it anyway, a hunger he’s never had for something Grimmjow doesn’t really understand.

Kurosaki indulges him. And smiles.

The third time Grimmjow reaches for Kurosaki it’s to hold him up before he falls face-first on the floor. Dead weight, Kurosaki drops against him like a ragged doll, burning up with a fever that Grimmjow, as an Arrancar, doesn’t really know what to do with.

He still tries. Cooking isn’t a survival skill for a former Hollow, however, and human bodies are as strange to him as the kitchen utensils. Grimmjow ends up not helping much in any regard, but Kurosaki still ends up the night curled against his chest, warm and breathing, and for someone whose speciality used to be killing instead of keeping things alive, Grimmjow supposes that must be good enough.

The third time Kurosaki reaches for him is in that same night, drooling on Grimmjow’s shoulder like a child ― sleepily, he pokes and prods around until Grimmjow’s arms are closed around him, the both of them only half-covered by the blankets.

It’s Grimmjow’s turn to indulge him, moving until they’re both comfortable, resting his head atop Kurosaki’s and waiting until one of the little sisters gets back home so the fever thing can be sorted out.

He stops keeping track after that.

Grimmjow hates being touched casually. A tap on his arm to get his attention, hands clapping his shoulder, handshakes or, hell, whatever it is a _hug_ is supposed to be, or do. Still, sometimes, Kurosaki’s the one reaching out for those touches. A soft tap on his wrist, to which Grimmjow will inevitably turn to look. Deft fingers intetwining with his own, or playing with his hair, tracing the outlines of his broken Hollow mask. Sometimes, Kurosaki is the one reaching out to tuck his head in the space between Grimmjow’s neck and shoulder, burrowing himself between Grimmjow’s arms like that’s the only logical place to let go of the tension he holds within himself ― like that’s a place he feels safe.

Grimmjow hates being touched casually. Still, sometimes, _he’s_ the one reaching out for those touches. Leaning against Kurosaki’s shoulder, sneaking an arm around his waist ― running his fingers through Kurosaki’s ridiculous hair and getting frustrated at how soft it feels.

Grimmjow hates being touched casually. But sometimes, if Kurosaki’s the one reaching out, if he’s the one Grimmjow is reaching out for, Grimmjow thinks he might not really mind it too much.


End file.
